Understanding
by sufinprincess
Summary: Finland's room was to be undisturbed during his absence, but Norway does not take that as a rule. After his exploration, he feels that he has a new understanding of the other Nordic and takes initiative to spread this understanding to Sweden. [One-sided SuFin]


**For a request. Norway and Denmark actually speak in an accent similar to Sweden, so I showed that here.**

For a long while after Finland's departure, Sweden couldn't bear to go into his room. He couldn't bear to go into the room of the one he loved, the one who was supposed to be there by his side forever, and see emptiness. He didn't want to see the bed with no quilts and sheets. He didn't want to see the empty wardrobe. He didn't want to look the dresser and find that nothing was there. He wanted to maintain that image in his mind of all of Finland's things scattered about the room. He wanted that messy picture to last forever. He wanted to pretend nothing had changed.

Sweden did so much to maintain this. No servant was allowed to step into the room and clean. It wasn't to be used for any guests. That room—_Finland's_ room, it was still and would always be Finland's room—was to remain untouched by anyone except Finland.

So it was to his surprise when he walked down the hall to his own room and found the door wide open. Norway was sitting on the floor, looking at the things spread about.

"What're ya doin'?" Sweden demanded.

"Lookin'," replied Norway smoothly. He picked up a portrait and smoothed it out. It was the portrait of Sweden that he had had made in companion with one of Finland. He'd shyly given it to Finland, saying that they could remember each other when they were apart, citing wars and business trips and such as those times, although he had carried the portrait all the time, just in case he needed to take a look at his lovely Finland.

The portrait was in his pocket even now.

Norway almost smiled. "Nice portrait," he said. "Doesn't look all that much like ya, though. Yer smilin' too much and there's not that crease b'tween yer eyes. … But this was Finland's, huh? No wonder. Ya wanted t'look good in 'is eyes. No offense, but this looks nicer than ya do."

Sweden shrugged embarrassedly. He _had _wanted to look good. He'd wanted the portrait to make Finland even fonder of him. He'd wanted … Finland.

Sweden shook the thought away and looked around the room. Everything was very dusty, but it most definitely wasn't bare. Stuff was scattered all about. There were still clothes in the wardrobe, still things on the dresser, still everything everywhere. He kneeled down and sat next to Norway, picking up another painting that had been left. (Had Finland not even gotten these frames? Did he just leave them on the floor? Did they matter so little?)

This was a painting that Finland didn't know had been commissioned. The artist made promises that he could take a quick look at a scene and paint it from memory. The painting was Finland running around and playing with Kukkamuna. It wasn't a great painting. It didn't capture the mischievous look of Finland's eyes, the way they were dark with roguish glee, the way they were light with cheer, but they were the right color and shape. The artist didn't get the gentle way Finland smiled, but there was his crooked grin and his tiny dimples. Finland's faded freckles made no appearance, but Sweden could imagine them. But he consoled himself with this: the artist had managed to get the softness of Finland's body. Sweden imagined Finland curled up next to him. He imagined him in bed. He imagined having his arm slung over Finland's waist, both naked and bare to each other in such a comfortable, intimate way. He longed for that so much.

Norway looked at the picture for a moment before turning to another object.

"Finland sure left a lotta stuff," he remarked.

"'e knows he'll be comin' back," said Sweden.

Norway looked at him skeptically. He said, "Ya miss 'im, don't ya? 's okay if ya do. I miss Dan. Doesn't change that things aren't gonna go back ta the way they used t'be, but ya can still miss it."

"Finland will be back," Sweden said surely.

Norway paused. He sighed. "Finland ain't comin' back and ya know that."

Sweden was determined. Norway sighed again.

"Ya know … ," he muttered, rubbing his sweaty hand on his pants and trying to figure out how to say this. "Once upon a time, we all thought we were better than Finland, right?" When Sweden stared blankly, Norway added, "The Kalmar Union. Finland was yer little servant. Followed ya ev'rywhere. We were all pretty sure ya was already sleepin' with 'im too."

Sweden flushed and looked away. He murmured, "… Wasn't … . Never … ."

"Really? Huh." Norway seemed confounded. "Well, doesn't changed that even back then ya were wantin' t'get inta 'is pants.

"Well, what I was sayin' was that we all treated Finland like he was below us just because he was different. Then Dan started to treat us the same way, 'cause he was the leader. And that made ya angry so ya left. But ya didn't understand and ya still treated Finland like that. Like … even when he was s'posed t'be yer wife, yer equal, he was just a pretty face that was too dumb t'know anything and just needed t'keep quiet while ya talked."

Norway grew quiet. Sweden could have sworn that he looked even more pensive than usual. Norway had always had an eye for detail and he tended to examine things too far. He watched as Norway took a deep breath and put his head in his hand.

He said, "While I was stayin' with Dan, I learned what it was liked t'be treated as inferior. And I didn't like it. I knew I was just as good as Dan, but I didn't have the same opportunities. And I wasn't treated half as bad as Finland and … . I dunno quite where I'm goin' with this, but— Have you ever thought that maybe Finland is just as good as us? I mean, he's been 'round fer 'bout as long and … . I guess what I'm sayin' is that bein' below someone isn't a good feeling, 'specially when yer treated like that. And if Finland ever wises up and realizes just what ya've been doin' ta him, he's not gonna come back. He's gonna want to stay away for—" Norway stopped, unwilling to finish that word.

Sweden scowled. "Finland will come back."

"If ya say so," Norway shrugged. "But I been in his situation and I know better, I think. Look, Sve—ya've known me too long. Ya know I'm not dumb. Ya don't treat me like an idiot. But with Finland, ya— I just dunno how t'make ya understand this. Ya say ya love 'im, but I'm not even sure ya know what love is."

Sweden stared blankly. There was something about the fire in his eyes. He waited for him to continue.

"Lovin' him doesn't mean yer gonna shield him from ev'rything and think it'll all be alright. He's gonna wanna see the world and he's gonna wanna be 'is own person and if yer treatin' him like a child, that ain't gonna happen," Norway spat out.

Sweden nodded.

Norway huffed. He rose from the floor and started out of the room. "I understand Finland better than I thought I ever would. He's a good guy, almost too nice fer his own good. Take a look at that book on the floor. Maybe ya could understand him too."

He stormed away.

Sweden picked up the book and there was Finland's sloppy handwriting. He paused and imagined his love, his soft golden hair, his gentle brown eyes, his sweet smile, and then took to reading.

_I don't understand this place. I ain't meant to be here. The people here tell me that. I wish I could go home._

He frowned and turned to the last page. The handwriting was surprisingly neat.

_I've been told that perhaps writing with this hand is the way I'm supposed to. It looks better for sure, but I have to wonder. Still, my lord Sweden told me to use my right hand._

_If he was wrong about this, was he wrong about everything?_

_There's little I'm sure of anymore. I worry that soon everything will change. I worry that soon any gratitude I have toward my lord Sweden will turn to hate._

_I worry that I don't fear that. I worry that I want to hate him. I worry that I might hate him already._


End file.
